Thornfield Hall Page 14

  One good thing came out of the fire – the locked door to the third storey. Mr Rochester intended it to keep Bertha in. We used it to keep Miss Eyre out. She was not given a key, since we had strict orders to keep the governess out of the secret. I gave a key to all my trusted fellow servants. They needed to have access to the stairs to deliver meals, coal and hot water and to bring down the slops and the dirty dishes. Miss Eyre, without a key, would not be able to pace up and down the corridor of a wet afternoon. Grace and Bertha need no longer spend hours in silence and would have occasional opportunities to leave the confines of their narrow prison.

  We had ten days of peace after Mr Rochester went to the Eshtons. Miss Eyre was very quiet, busy with a painting that seemed to occupy all her spare time. Adele was happy spending her afternoons with Sophie in the garden when it was fine or inside with her dolls when it was not. She ate her supper with me and Miss Eyre in my room so I had some opportunities to spoil her, ordering Mary to cook food I thought she would like. After her meal Adele would give me a formal curtsy and a kiss on each cheek before departing for bed. I was left to spend an hour of stilted conversation with Miss Eyre in my room. We both had secrets to conceal but I was confident I had guessed hers. She was sick with love for Mr Rochester. I profoundly hoped she had discovered neither the secret I kept from her nor the suspicion I harboured that Bertha was married to Mr Rochester.

  Cut off from the talk in the servants’ hall, I relied on Leah to keep me up to date with the ebb and flow of feeling among the other servants. The only real development concerned Sophie, Adele’s maid. In spite of the language difficulties Sophie was welcome in the servants’ hall. Leah informed me with a sly smile that Sam, the footman, was spending a lot of time with Sophie. ‘Teaching her English, he says.’ Sophie was a pretty girl with a gift for making the best of herself.

  Mr Rochester had supplied Adele with a handsome new doll from Paris with a luminous wax complexion and blonde ringlets. Miss Eyre did not seem to understand about dolls. I suspect she had not been allowed one as a child. Her reaction had been to warn Adele not to take it too close to the fire for fear it would melt. Adele, duly warned, kept away from the hearth but was distressed by the scantiness of the doll’s clothes. She was sure it felt the cold. I secretly conveyed this urgent need for clothing to the third floor. Bertha took it up with enthusiasm. Behind the locked door to the stairway our sewing afternoons began again to take place. Soon we were busy making tiny garments. We raided the storage rooms for scraps of brocade and velvet from old curtains and cushions. Bertha proved as gifted at making dolls’ clothes as she had been at making the flowers for the Christmas decorations.

  The first outfit for Adele’s newest doll consisted of a matching dress, cape and bonnet in purple velvet. The doll was also supplied with a complete set of underwear including four lace-trimmed petticoats. When these items found their way into Adele’s hands she was in ecstasy.

  With her sharp eye for material advantage Adele soon discovered that she had other dolls with gaps in their wardrobes. A doll would be smuggled up to the third floor to be measured. Later a little pile of clothes would be left outside her door one night and by some miracle they would fit perfectly. We told Adele there was a special group of fairies that did the work and she obliged us by pretending to believe. I do not think she was fooled by the fiction, but, being a pragmatic girl she indulged us to make sure the clothes kept coming.

  One by one the dolls were smuggled up to have their measurements taken and their features noted. Grace nudged me to watch Bertha as she tenderly undressed and measured a baby doll and then gently dressed it again. This done she hugged it to her breast and gave a distant smile. It was strange to see her big hands around such a tiny body, but more notable was the expression of ineffable serenity on her face.

  ‘I was sure she’d had a baby. Perhaps we should have got her a doll when she was really bad,’ said Grace. ‘Hugging something can console people. It seems to take away a bit of the pain.’

  A happy few days we had. Miss Eyre was too busy to notice that Adele’s dolls had almost as many changes of clothing as their owner did. She was deep in her own project; she was painting something and a very secret something it was. She would slide it away the minute I came into the room. I thought it might be a portrait of the master. Leah, who had managed to sneak a look, put me straight on that. ‘It’s a lady. With a lot of black hair and a very cross face.’ It sounded like the description I had given of Blanche Ingram, though I had not mentioned her bad temper

  A letter from Mr Rochester disturbed our peaceful interlude. He wrote to say he was returning in three days’ time and that he would be bringing a large house party with him. This news immediately cured Miss Eyre of her dejection and gave me the shock of the century; he had never invited people to a house party at Thornfield Hall. As a bachelor he was constantly invited to other people’s houses; he seldom felt the need to return their hospitality. I quailed at the thought of the organization involved and set off at once to put matters in hand. Three days was not very long.

  We servants sprang into action like a well-oiled machine. The hunt dinner and the Christmas ball had given us valuable practice. We all knew what to do or where to find someone who could do it. I blessed Monsieur Alphonse for his strict training of our local boys. The only novice was Miss Eyre and I kept her busy in the pantry making sweets and jellies. She was a dab hand at delicacies. Adele, bless her, did not have time for lessons; she had to check her dresses and practise her party pieces. She was sure she would be needed in the ‘salon’ to entertain the guests.

  The list of guests contained mainly those who had attended the Christmas party some years back, the one where Mr Rochester paid Miss Blanche some extravagant compliments. This repetition in the guest list is inevitable in the country, where there is such a small supply of suitable people to invite. The only real change was that old Lord Ingram had died and his son, Theodore, was now Baron Ingram of Ingram Park. The futures of the Honourable Blanche and Mary looked gloomy. The new young peer was reputed to have run up many debts on the strength of his future inheritance; the estate was entailed to him. Now that he had come into his fortune his creditors were circling their prey. If they decided to pounce there would be little actual cash left to provide his sisters with marriage settlements.

  I hoped my master would be more discreet in his behaviour this time. Miss Blanche was twenty-five now and still unwed. Her triumphant London season was a long way behind her. Her opportunities dwindled as her years accumulated. I guessed that, given half a chance, she would snap her jaws tight round my master. Once again I was concerned for my own future. If the Honourable Blanche became mistress of Thornfield my livelihood depended on her whims and temper. I was saving to buy a pair of cottages, one to live in and one to rent out. In this way I hoped to have an income to support me in my old age. With luck I could avoid cold and hunger; my life, however, would be very meagre compared with my present circumstances. Like most honest working people I dreaded the thought of being forced into the workhouse. The world can be very unkind to old women.

  THE HOUSE PARTY

  1832

  IT WAS ONE OF THOSE MILD SERENE DAYS TOWARD the end of March or the beginning of April when the guests arrived for the house party. My first glimpse dashed any hope that my master would be more discreet with the Honourable Miss Ingram. While the other ladies were content to travel in the two open carriages Miss Blanche rode her horse. Her purple riding habit swept the ground and her veil streamed behind her. By her side rode Mr Rochester on his black horse, Mesrour, while his dog, Pilot, bounded ahead. They made a splendid sight; it was hard to imagine a more flagrant way of announcing their interest in each other.

  Even among the flurry of arriving guests with their many maids and footmen I noticed Martha. Again she travelled under the guise of the Honourable Blanche’s maid, but it was a very different Martha this time. She had lost all her bounce and swagger. There were black rings under her ey
es and her cheeks had caved in as if she had lost teeth. The grim set of her lips suggested she was holding back tears all the time. Since my conscience bothered me about the girl I set Leah to find out at servants’ meal times what was wrong and report back to me. Custom condemned me to entertaining the upper servants in my room.

  I had many other calls upon my time in the evenings so I asked Mr Rochester if Miss Eyre could accompany Adele to the drawing room after dinner; the child was desperate to meet the ladies. Since Mr Rochester had no wife or female relative to act as hostess, it was the custom for there to be a female servant of some status present when there were lady guests, so they could call on her if need be. Mr Rochester gave my suggestion a warm reception; he thought it such a good idea that he warned me he would drag Miss Eyre to the drawing room if she resisted. I showed Jane where she could slip quietly in and advised her to dress in her best costume. Adele did not need such advice. She arrived in style, her hair curled, her petticoats rustling and her immaculate pink dress decorated with a rose.

  The footmen and the maids brought us regular reports of what was happening in the drawing room. Mr Rochester was flirting outrageously with Miss Blanche and she was lapping up his attentions. With her brother, the new baronet, she had spent a happy half hour abusing governesses in general while poor Miss Eyre sat within earshot. Now she was singing a duet with the master and very fine singers they both were. Now they were planning charades and we had to ransack the third floor for costumes and props. I scampered as fast as my legs would carry me to keep the visiting servants away from Grace and Bertha’s end of the third floor.

  Word came down that the answer to the charade was Brideswell. Mr Rochester played the groom and Miss Blanche acted as the bride. They were married in dumb show. Was he determined to ruin her? Or was he making such a spectacle of his courtship that the alliance would be inevitable? The prospect of matrimony had made him flee abroad before. This time even he would not have the brass neck to turn tail. The expectations of his neighbours would force him to lead his dusky bride up the aisle.

  As the days went by I still had no real inkling of why my master behaved as indiscreetly as he did. I did not believe he loved Miss Ingram or cherished her for herself. She was a puppet in some kind of show. I might have felt sorry for her if she had not been such a nasty, vain and shallow person. After the duets and the flirting and the charades Mr Rochester had still one last trick to play on his guests. He pretended to be out on business but returned secretly. He had disguised himself as an old gypsy woman who had come to tell the ladies’ fortunes. Or rather the fortunes of the young and single ladies. He did not waste his time on that awful old battle-axe the Dowager Baroness Ingram.

  The bold Miss Blanche volunteered to be first to brave an interview with the gypsy. ‘What a drama she made of it! You’d have thought she was going to wrestle a bear,’ said Sam, who had been in charge of the negotiations between the ladies and the gypsy. ‘And when she came out! You should have seen the gob on her!’ he guffawed. We all cackled with laughter. The haughty Miss Honourable driven into a bad case of the sulks by a gypsy.

  Sam revealed that the gypsy – or rather Mr Rochester – had at the end specifically asked him to go for Miss Eyre to have her fortune told. Sam was full of approval for Jane’s behaviour. ‘She didn’t make a performance of it. I offered to stay out in corridor in case she was scared. Not her. She sent me back to the kitchen to get on with my work.’ What words were exchanged during that interview we never learnt.

  While Mr Rochester was dressed up as a gypsy even the staff thought he was away on business in Millcote. In his absence – as we thought – a Mr Mason arrived and claimed to be an old friend of the master’s from Kingston, Jamaica. As is the custom we admitted the visitor, who joined the others in the drawing room. Once the pantomime of fortune-telling was over, our master welcomed the new arrival and showed him to a bedroom near his own. The arrival of this visitor from Jamaica changed everything, but we did not know it at the time. The revelations he set in motion reduced the posturing of the gentry in the drawing room to a mere shadow play. It was on the floors above and below them the real drama was played out.

  In the morning the unexpected guest had gone. Gratitude was my first thought; one less mouth to feed. I am a little deaf so I had slept through the disturbance in the night. Sam whispered that he had been involved. He gave me a nod and a wink and a ‘tell you later’. To be honest I was too busy catering for the house party to have time to think about anything else. We were working from five thirty in the morning to eleven or twelve at night. We had little time for gossip and tended to sleep well. The house party was over before I discovered there had been strange comings and goings in the night, horses saddled, a post chaise summoned to wait outside the gate as dawn broke.

  It must have been the season for sudden departures. In the afternoon a manservant we did not know came with news for Miss Eyre. The two of them set off in the early hours of the next morning before I was about. Her disappearance made me quite angry, as she had not had the courtesy to seek me out and ask my permission. She had gone straight to Mr Rochester; governesses like to think they are family, not servants. The master had given her leave to go and paid her ten pounds from his own pocket. I was annoyed because it made a muddle in the accounts. To be fair to Jane she wrote to me later, explaining she had been summoned to a dying relative.

  When the Easter recess of Parliament came to an end Sir George Lynn, who was member for Millcote, left Thornfield Hall. After that the house party quickly dwindled; the Eshtons and the Dents soon found reasons to leave. We were left with the dregs, the Ingrams. I might have known they would hang on, eating our food and burning our coal in preference to their own. My worst ordeal was a final meal alone with the Ingrams’ upper servants. They were shallow imitations of their employers: full of stories of exalted visitors and complaints about how hard it was to get ‘proper staff’. They spent their time abusing their fellow servants as either lazy and slovenly or ignorant of the necessary skills to do their jobs properly. I smiled and nodded and managed to keep my pug mask intact while inside I wanted to curse them and sentence them to the cruellest torments of cold, hunger and poverty. I was proud of my staff at Thornfield. They were honest, punctual and reliable and they knew their trades.

  At last the Ingrams left. As befitted their rank Mr Rochester waved them off and we servants stood outside in a respectful line. We had done well in the customary tips from the previous departing guests but we were not optimistic about these. The Ingrams ran true to their usual tight-fisted form. Miss Blanche sat in the coach with a face that would sour milk. I could not blame her; she must’ve expected a proposal while she was at Thornfield Hall. Poor Martha followed behind them in the dog cart. She was balanced on the top of the trunks and crying fit to burst.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ It was Leah by my side, all pink and embarrassed. Her news did not surprise me. She and John were in love. Nature had taken its course.

  ‘What does John say?’

  ‘He wants to speak to parson straight away. I wanted to tell you first.’

  ‘Thank you, Leah. I appreciate that. First Adele arrives and now a baby will be coming to Thornfield Hall. The old place will be full of life. Let us hope your baby arrives when Mr Rochester is away. The gentry don’t really like babies being born in their houses – except their own. Let’s hope you have your own cottage by then.’

  ‘My baby’s not the only one. Martha’s in the family way. That’s why she’s crying all the time. I only just persuaded her to get in the dog cart to go back with them. She wanted to stay here. She’s further on than me. She thinks she’s due about harvest time.’ Leah shrugged her shoulders and held out her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

  ‘I don’t suppose the daft girl has any idea of her dates. The clock was just a picture on the wall to her. As for looking at a calendar!’ I raised my eyes to heaven. ‘I saw she looked unhappy but I didn’t notice her thickening out.’<
br />
  ‘You were busy and you can hide a lot under an apron. At least I hope so.’

  ‘Any mention of the father?’

  ‘She had plenty to say about him. It’s the new Baron Ingram, of course. Young Lord Theodore as was.’

  ‘He’ll not be speaking to the parson.’

  ‘No. Gave her five guineas not to tell.’

  ‘Who else knows?’

  ‘The dreaded Blanche. Says she’ll give her a reference if she goes quietly. They don’t want the baroness to know. Apparently it’s not the first time young Theodore has put a maid in the family way. Following in his father’s footsteps. Martha showed me her arms. They’re black with bruises where Blanche has pinched and twisted them.’

  I felt the heart drop out of me. Poor Martha was with child by a man who was scared of his mother and who got his sister to do his dirty work. All this because I’d been squeamish about being seen leaving old Mr Rochester’s bedroom. As if my reputation counted for anything against the fate of the unwanted baby of a silly girl who let a coward seduce her. In seconds I’d made my mind up.

  ‘I’ll send word to her tomorrow. Tell her to give her notice in and get her reference. She must come here. I’ll not see her go to the workhouse. You know how hard they are on girls who are not wed. We will look after her. I’ll put her on the books as a laundry maid to cover her food. She’ll have to work until her time comes but no one here will torment her. I don’t know about after the baby comes. She’ll have a reference from a titled lady. That must be worth something.’